“I need to go get dressed,” I said, standing from the bed and pulling the blanket with me.
Before he could reply, I hurried into the bathroom and hid behind the wall. There was no door to close for privacy, something I’m sure was intentional on his part. I heard him shuffling in the bedroom, dishes clanking, and I peeked over the doorway to see him pick up the tray and carry it to the dresser out of the way.
He leaned down and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out a fresh set of sheets. I watched as he stripped the bed and replaced the dirty ones with new ones, some foreign emotion tugging in my chest.
Memories flooded back from the night before—the way he looked at me with so much desire—and panic gripped my chest, refusing to let go.
What had I done?
I’d lost myself in the arousal I felt, the way he stormed into the room covered in blood, his eyes locked onto me. The way he pressed his lips against mine, leaving no space to breathe. Heat pooled in my stomach as I closed my eyes, remembering the way he fucked me—violently and without mercy. Something I'd begged previous partners to do. My breathing grew faster, andI fought back the memories, shoving them into the deepest corners of my mind.
It took me far too long to realize I’d forgotten clothes, and I cursed at myself as I stumbled back into the bedroom, the blanket dragging on the floor behind me. Jason’s head snapped toward me as I entered, his brows quirked in a question.
“Forgot my clothes,” I muttered, reaching down to search through my suitcase.
“You should probably shower,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve got a little, uh, blood right there.”
He pointed at my chest, and I looked down, seeing streaks of dried blood.
“Right,” I mumbled, pulling my clothes from the suitcase and heading back to the bathroom.
Footsteps echoed behind me as Jason stepped into the room, and I clutched the blanket against me, the feel of his gaze making me shiver.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He leaned down and grabbed my shampoo and bodywash from the bathtub, handing them to me with a shrug.
“Making sure you have everything you need.”
I took it from him, opened the shower door, placed it on the bench inside, and turned on the shower. As I turned around, I saw him leaving the bathroom, a towel lying across the far end of the shower.
My body relaxed just a bit as I dropped the blanket and stepped in, standing under one of the many spots where water poured down from the ceiling. It felt like being in a rainstorm, the water gently sweeping down my skin. I sank into the warmth, letting myself relax. I scrubbed my chest, watching the water turn from clear to light pink as the blood was washed clean from my skin.
I took my time showering, trying to keep my mind occupied as last night's events kept pulling at me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep them at bay, nor could I wash it all away. There was no doubt it was the best sex I’d ever had in my life, leaving me completely satiated, unlike all the times before. I hummed a soft tune as I tried to chase away the growing heat in my core.
When I was finally done, I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off, slipping into the comfort of my sweatpants and baggy T-shirt. I entered the bedroom and realized I was alone, but the scent of him still lingered. Something earthy with a citrus undertone.
I walked over to the bed and crawled under the clean blanket, my body sinking into it as if it were made for me. Though I suppose, in a way, it was. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out this room was literally made just for me.
The walls were painted my favorite colors, my favorite flowers had once sat on the nightstand, and photos he’d stolen from my apartment took up a large section of the dresser. Somehow, this place felt more like home than any place I'd been.
As I laid there, my body bathed in warmth, my muscles relaxing more than they had in days, my hand trailed down to the jagged scars carved into my thigh. Years of abuse from my own mother had carved much deeper scars, but those were invisible to everyone but me.
Her hatred for me grew deeper over the years as her bottled-up anger over my father leaving weighed heavily on her. The blame constantly fell to me, the fact that my father didn't want children somehow being my fault. She numbed herself with alcohol and drugs, using me as a way to unleash her rage. The bruises always faded, but the emotional and mental scars were carved deep into my bones.
Sobs wracked my chest as I let the memories flood in, overwhelming me with pain and heartache I could never fully shake. Despite therapy and crying to Casey, those wounds ran so deep that I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to be a functioning human being.
Strong arms wrapped around me as I sobbed into the blanket, and this time, I didn’t freak out or pull away. I sank into him, letting him hold me as he ran his fingers through my hair. His lips pressed against my cheek, the gentleness of it making me sob even harder.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered into my ear, his fingers trailing up and down my arms.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” I said shakily, trying to catch my breath.
He snorted and turned me to face him, my vision blurry as tears continued to fall.
“You’re not fine,” he said, wiping away tears from my cheek.
“You kidnapped me and now you want me to… what? Trauma dump on you?”
